The Sun. — London, England, 1864-01-04 00:00:00

Sir Stafford H, Northeote on Art Progress in England, EXETER, Saturday. At tto annual meeting of the Exeter School of Art, held last evening, the chair was taken by the 'Noah:cot, Sir Stafford Northcote, who deiivered a long and interesting address on the subject of art education, and of the grants made by Government to the schools of art throughout the country. Sir S.NORTEICOTE, after referring to circumstances connected with the Exeter School, said,—There is one other point which has been mentioned in the report upon which I am bound to say a few words ; but it is a point upon which I wish to touch as lightly as possible. Your attention has been called to a change which has taken place in the arrange ments which Government has made with regard to this school; and there is no doubt the alteration of the minutes of the Committee of Council with re gard to the schools of art throughout the kingdom will tell very seriously upon many of the masters of those schools, and especially, I am sorry to say, it will tell upon those who are most deserving among them. Especially it will tell upon such masters as our own excellent master, Mr. Birkmyer, because the old system was this—that the Government required the masters to pass in one or more grades of art. There ware different grades, different classes—for drawing, and for painting, and for modelling, and so forth. If a master passed in one grade he had a fee of ten guineas a year allowed to him ; if he passed in two grades, 20 guineas ; if in three grades, 30 guineas, and so forth. But now the whole of that is swept away, and a single uniform fee of 10 guineas is to be granted for the report upon the school, and this will be given to those who have passed in one grade in the examina tions as well as to those who have passed in four or five grades. Now that certainly seems to be a hard ship, and it tells particularly hard upon such a mas ter as we have at present the good fortune to possess, because Mr. Birkmyer has passed in several grades, and the effect of this upon him will be very serious. The Government also proposes to make certain alte rations with regard to the free students—to sweep them away, in fact, very much in the same manner in which they are sweeping away the pupil teachers in a great many of our national schools. The change is very much analogous to that taking place in na tional schools ; and it is, at the first moment at all events, felt as a very great hardship by the teachers that they are thrown out of that which they had expected, and which they had been legitimately en titled to expect, from the arrangements made by the Government. It is very hard upon them, and they feel it to be so, that they should suddenly have their position altered. At the same time there is a good deal to be said on the side of the Government. There is the necessity to introduce some economy in the administration of this large grant which the Government makes for the promotion of education and of science and art ; and the time is coming when it will be necessary that some alteration should be made in the terms upon which these grants have been given. Ido not wish now to enter into the controversy which has arisen with respect to the particular mode which they ought to adopt. I only wish to remind you that it does fall very hardly, whether it be right or not on the part of the Government to take this step, upon such mas ters as our excellent master, Mr. Birkmyer. And that circumstance affords an additional reason for inducing us to make every effort to prevent his being a sufferer. He and Mr. Wig zell (his predecessor) have done great things for this school,—they have raised it to a highly creditable position. They took it in hand at a time when there was no idea in the city that we could fill a school at all, or support anything of the kind; and they have shown that it is possible to fill a school; that it is possible to produce very cre ditable results; and they have produced a school which, I am sure, Exeter ought to be proud of. (Hear, hear.) We know, and Government will probably tell us, that the change which they have made in withdrawing some of the support hitherto granted has been made upon this principle—that they gave a certain amount of support in order to set going the system of education throughout the country; but now that it had been set going, and now that tne country is aware of its value, it is time they should draw back their hands and leave the country to support that which has been started among them, and to carry it on by themselves. They will say also, no doubt, " We are proposing to pay you by results; attain your results and you will receive as much as you received before." But in order to do that you must remember we want en_ larded space; because you must be very well aware that in this school we are quite cramped for room, and that until we can be transplanted into a larger room it will be impossible for thesciaool to develope itself as it ought to do. (Hear.) Now, I am in great hopes that when this Museum and School of Art, which we are always talking about, and which we begin now to see dimly looming before us—when we see that turned from a shadow into a reality— then I think we shall begin to see better days for the School of Art, because we then shall be able to grow and expand ourselves as we ought to do. I hope by that change we shall get into a position that will enable us to overcome the difficulties of our position ; bet in the meantime you must help us, It is impossible we can get over the next two or three years satisfactorily unless we receive greater pecuniary assistance from the citizens of Exeter than hitherto. (Hear.) We find everybody is now willing to acknowledge the services of the school, but when it comes to the practical point of asking them to 'subscribe, then I am sorry to say we fiud a weak part. I hope that by printidg and circu lating this annual report we shall obtain a larger measure of support than hitherto. I do hope that when this matter is prominently brought before the citizens of Exeter they will take a noble and liberal view of the question. Ido hope they will not look at it in the narrow way in which we sometimes hear it spoken of—that we shall not hear it said, " - Well, Exeter i 4 not a mannfactuting town, Exeter has not the same interest in the maintenance of a school of art that Manch- ster, or Birmingham, or any of the other great cities of industry in the north have." I hope the citzus of Exeter will take a larger and wider view of the question than that, because this is a great national work. (Hear, hear.) It is a work in which we are interested as members of the English nation ; and I do feel there is a great deal incumbent on us not to lose our place among the people of this country—not to allow ourselves to be put aside as being the unprogressive and un interested part of the nation—not to allow the northern and midland counties, the great manufac turing counties, to take precedence of us and claim a monopoly of interest in all that is interesting to the nation. (Applause.) This matter is one that often weighs upon me. I think there is a great deal more in it than appears on the surface. You remember some years ago there were persons, and persons of some influence in this country, too, who used to hold this sort of language; tey would say of Engl a nd, " What is it you meal' by England? England is the manufacturing counties—the nor thern and midland counties; as for the south and west—the agricultural nistricts—we have nothing to do with them." We heard that sort of language used. There were persons who seemed disposed actually to establish a separate community in the northern and midland parts of England, and to leave us in the south-west behind, as if we had no interest in them. Now I sey that is a position in which we in the south and west ought never to acquiesce. (Hear, hear.) It would be suicidal on our part, and most injurious to this country, if we were at all to allow ourselves to be left behind in any great improvement for the general good of the nation. (Applause.) I say the great strength cf this country depends upon the union of all classes among us. It depends upon our being all energetic, upon our doing what is good for the whole nation, and ceasing to look merely to local and selfish in terests.. (Hear, hear.) Remember this, we are all Englishmen — a we are all interested in what is g ood for the welfare and good of England. And if this move ment, or any o ther movement, is shown to be good/for the nation at large, we ought to consider ourselves equally interested in it as the people of the north, or the manufacturing districts, be a sad or any other part otEnglan d whatsoever. It time should will an d fatal day for England if the may perhaps rise, without being very great geniuses, to become designers or improvers of de- I signs in the manufactures to which they devote themselves. Even where that is not directly the ever come when a foreigner could point to the map, and drawing a line say, " Now, north of that line, or east of that line, there is the energet 'he pro gressive, the enlightened part of England, and south Of west of that line is the dark an unenergetic and dull part of Eegland." Such a triod I hope never to see. I hope rather to eeo all parts of Eel land, our own part especially, bearing ;heir part in that which is for the good of the nation. (Hear.) And I venture to say this movement, which is now claiming our sympathies, is one which has a very strong claim upon the national interests. I venture to say this because England has taken up art edu cation advisedly, and is reaping the most signal benefits from it. (Hear.) When I say that I do not wish to go back over the old ground over which I have trodden before upon occasions of this sort, and to tell you the old story how it was these schools originally came to be supported. But I would wish to call your attention for a moment to the general results which this movement has,,,l be lieve, had upon the trade and industry of the country. There is something very remarkable in the present condition of the trade of the country. You are all generally aware that there never has been a time in which the trade of the country has flourished so greatly as during the last 20 years. I dara say you are aware that even at the present moment, under circumstances of very great difficulty, under the circumstances of the paralysis of that which is the great branch of our whole industry, the cotton trade, the trade of England is as great, or even greater than it was before. (Hear.) I believe that when the returns of 1863 come to be made up it will be found that the exports of British produce are larger in the past year than in any year on re cord. (Hear.) That is extremely satisfactory. But what is the cause of it P I do not wish to weary you with analysing all the figures; but I had tLe other day occasion to look at some returns presented to the House of Commons quite recently, out of which I took some figures so remarkable that I will request your permission to read them. They are some figures comparing the exports of England generally between the years 1840 and 1862. And I find this, that in the year 1840 the value of British manufactures exported in a finished state was nearly £36,000,000, whereas in 1862 it was upwards of £82,000,000, the increase being about 127 per cent. (Hear, hear.) That is a story which we ail know, and very satisfactory it is to the country at large. But I wished to go a little further. I wanted to see how far that expor tation was due, or could in any way be attributed to the exertions which have been made in England of late years to improve the taste of our manufac tures. Therefore, I went a little carefully into those statistics, and endeavoured to ascertain what had been the increase in those articles in the production of which taste is particularly required. It is not very easy to separate those articles, because, of course, we know in a great many cases with regard to cotton goods and woollens and many other things that they are all put together in the returns; and yet a large number of them may be articles upon which a great deal of labour and a great deal of taste have been bestowed. Therefore, all I could do was to select from the list of general exports a few articles which I believe you will admit are for the most part articles upon the production of which taste is particularly employed. I took the articles of carriages ; of earthenware and porcelain, which is an item particularly interesting, because it is in her earthenware and porcelain that England has especially made progress of late years; furni ture, cabinet and upholstery wares ; glass manu factures, in which a great deal of beautiful work has of late been done ; haberdashery and millinery, which I suppose would depend a good deal upon the taste of the country; pictures, plate, jewelry, and watches: silk manufactures, paper hanging, and toys—and taking these articles, upon which, as a body, I presume our taste is particularly employed, I found the value of those exported in 1810 was £2,700,000, whereas in 1862 it was just above £8,000,000, showing an increase of £5,250,000, or about 196 per cent—(hear, hear, and applause—so that I discovered that while the general advance of our manufactures in these twenty years had been rather more than 125 per cent., it had been very nearly 200 per cent. in' those particular articles which demand the exercise of taste. Now, I think it is not a little remarkable that during the very time in which we have admitted the goods of all other nations who were supposed to be so much our superiors in taste to compete freely with us—while we admitted the goods of France and of all other countries where art has lxzen encouraged for so many years to come in free competition with our own, we, nevertheless, have been able to export those particular goods in respect of which we com peted with them—goods in the production of which taste enters so largely—able to meet our rivals, and to beat them upon the open ground. (Applause.) If we had in any way increased our exports merely by sending out raw materials, half manufactured articles, or articles requiring no taste at all, but only cheapness of production, we might have said that England excels in having a greater quantity of coal and iron, and those other elements which conduce to cheapness; but when we are able to beat other countries in articles dependent upon the taste be stowei upon their production, then I say you may look with gratification on the work which we have been doing in this country during the last 22 years for the encouragement of the national taste. (Hear, hear.) lam taking up a period which exactly syn chronizes with the raw; :iment for the Schools of Design. It was in 1840, as Sir John Bowring will tell you, that the first steps were taken for the esta blishment of Schools of Design in this country, and, looking at what has been done since, I say the resul t is not a little remarkable in that respect. It proves that the work we have been doing has not been an idle one; that it is a work not unsuited to the genius of the English people; that the English people, if fairly taught, are as capable of develop ing taste and of producing wurks of good taste as any other people under the sun. (Hear, hear.) And I maintain that we have bestowed our time and our labour well upon this work which we have been carrying on, and that there is every encouragement for us to carry it on still further. (Hear, hear.) have ventured to put the matter before you in a national point of view, and to appeal to you and the citizens of Exeter to take your part in this great national undertaking, which I am quite satisfied is of very great importance to the nation at large ; but if we come down trorrithe general, the high ground, the national good, I will appeal toyou also on behalf of your own sons and daughters and the people of your own city, and ask, is it not your duty to give them the advantages of the educaticn here afforded to them ? Just consider what those advantages are ; what it is in y our power to do for the children and the young people of this city and neighbourhood. We look upon the education in art in two points of view : you look upon it as developing high genius, which is given but to few ; you may look upon it also as giving a very useful education to the great bulk of mankind who have no claims to higher and diviner genius ; but if you look at it under either point of view you will see how great is its advantage to young people. You will find in the lives of per sons possessed of real genius and who have struggled and fought against great difficulties and have at tained to eminence in science or in art,ahow very much they gained by the few aids which they did here and there receive ; and you cannot help think ing, and sadly too, how many there must have been who, perhaps with equal genius, have yet wanted those few helps, those timely aids, and have thus been lost to the country and to themselves. (Hear.) And we say it is a great blessing that in schools like these we may here and there be able to hold out to the struggling genius a hand that may enable him to climb the ladder. Even if that was all we were able to do these institutions would be well worthy our encouragement and support. Bat, then, when you consider that that is not all they do, but that they also render great assistance by giving a good sound edu cation to the great mass of those who attend them, I think you will see they are valuable ; for double art education is by no means to be despised even in the case of those who are never likely to become great or distinguished artists. Because, what do they gain ? In the first place many handicrafts men and others can by the training they receive here become better workmen and better able to execute designs set before them. They themselves case I am quite satisfied there is no kind of educa tion that is better for the general education of man. Eduction in drawing conduces to make men cer tain and correct in what they do. It induces them to do that in the general education which writing does in their intellectual education. It conduces to make what a man does know certain. How often do we see that a man if you explain anything to him thinks he understands yon, and that he would perhaps give you a tolerably good answer if you put questions to him ; and yet if you ask him to write down the matter upon which you hale been discoursing it appears that he does not thoroughly understand it. Just in the same way is it with drawing. A man takes notice of an object, and thinking he knows all about it, goes away. But if he tries to draw it, then he finds that there are many points of it which he had not noticed, or of which he has taken an incorrect impression. Draw • ing, therefore, gives a man correctness of observa tion, which is one of the most valuable qualities of education. (Hear, hear.) This view is confirmed by the opinion of others who are better able to judge than myself. I was very much struck, not long ago, in the course of an inquiry which I and others have been carrying on as to the public schools of the country, by the answer of the very distin guished head master of a very celebrated school. He was asked with regard to drawing, whether it was taught in his school. On his replying that a number of boys had learnt drawing, he was asked whether he found that the boys who had done so were in any way assisted in their classical studies by it. That was a question which seemed rather curious at first, because it was thought that drawing might take them from their classical studies. The answer was that he had not the slightest doubt they were assisted in their classical studies, because it enabled them to realise to themselves many of those things of which the classical poets wrote; that they were accustomed to draw them from descriptions or from pictures which were set before them ; and that they thus obtained a much more accurate knowledge than others not able to draw. That is the case with all those studies which conduce to greater accuracy of observation : they improve the mind—they im prove the intelligence of those who prosecute them. (Hear, hear.) Therefore, I say, this is a study which upon every ground deserves our support and assistance; and f do hope the time is now long gone by when people would look down with a contemp tuous sneer at drawing, as if it were no real part of education. (Hear, hear.) I hope it is assuming a serious and important place in the course of English education which it will never lose. I hope that what we have done will never go back, but rather go on gaining ground. (Loud cheers.) While the best parts of Mr. Thackeray's regular novels belong to the &ass of refined comedy, his Christmas stories his contributions to Punch., and his minor writings in gene - ral, overflow with the gayest and wildest humour. No mo dern parodies approach in excellence to the imitations of Mr. Disraeli and Sir Bulwer Lytton in " Codlingsby" and "George de Barnwell." The profound philosophy of the interesting murderer's argument to prove that he had com mitted no clime because he felt no remorse, is the more ad mirable because it approaches the limits of possible sophistry. Major Gahagan, "the slayer of elephants," furnishes a subject for one of the wittiest of burlesque romances. In " Rebecca and Rowena," where Mr. Thackeray vented his humorous irritation against the heroine of "Ivanhoe," his unfailing dislike to famous warriors is expressed in the melo dramatic ferocity of Richard Ccour de Lion. Like all great comic writers, he derived a special amusement from certain favourite types of character. Of the mendacious Irish ad venturer he was never tired, and Barry Lyndon was only the possible or credible forerunner of The Mulligan. The Jeames of the " Diary" and the Charles of the "Yellow plush Papers" are still more fabulous representatives of the imaginary London footman; but Mr. Thackeray knew how to produce the most amusing results by adopting the gratuitous supposition that uneducated magniloquence was combined with a practice of phonetic spelling. He always took pleasure in playing with the language of which he had obtained perfect mastery. His puns and his unexpected rhymes were surprisingly ingenious, and the flowing metre of his humorous ballads was not far removed from the music of genuine poetry. His ordinary style was in a high degree pure and idiomatic, and his habitual cultivation of the nice ties of language taught him to appreciate, in his maturer years, the classical studies which he had too much under valued in his youth: He sometimes said that his highest aspiration would be to produce a few short poems as finished and perfect as the Odes of Horace.—Saturday Review. HIS LAST ILLNESS. As there are many stories in circulation respecting the circumstances which immediately proceeded Mr. Thackeray's death, the following facts, which were obligingly given us by one of his most intimate - personal friends, may not prove uninteresting. It appears that although generally enjoying good health, he was at intervals subject to severe spasms of the stomach, which caused violent retching and nausea, and left him in a state of utter prostration often for hours after the first violence of the attack had passed away. On the night of his death, his mother, who slept overhead, heard him get up and walk about his room, but was not alarmed, as this was a habit with her son when he felt any symptoms of an attack coming on. In the morning his valet came into Mr. Thackeray's bedroom as usual, and saw him lying on his back quite still, withhis arms spread over the coverlet, bu he took nonotice, as he also was accustomed to see his mas ter thus after one of his stomach attacks. He brought some coffee and set it down beside the bed, and it was only when he returned after an interval and found that the cup had not been tasted, that a sudden alarm seized him, and he disco vered that his master was dead. Mr. Thackeray had in fact been seized when his mother heard him get up in the night and walk about the room, and the violence of the attack, it is supposed, brought on the effusion on the brain, which, as the post-mortem examination showed, was the immediate cause of death. Mr. Joseph Durham, the emi nent sculptor, has undertaken to preserve the likeness of his deceased friend in a marble bust, which he means to pre sent to the Garrick Club. —Daily News. THE PUBLICATION OP " 'VANITY FAIR," At last, set Thacaray in his place among the first novelists of Europe, and among the men of letters most sought after by opulent and . titled personages at home and abroad. It is instructive to observe how the class of persons whom writers like Thackery love to analyze and to satirize —fools of quality—rich, idle folk who want to be am used —free-living men and women, whose morals would the least bear exposure, have alway been the most eager to welcome, to cherish, and to admit into the fold of intimacy the very guests and observers, " those authors," w hom they have the most reason to dread . —..4Mesmum. "AND THERE CAME UP A LION OUT OP JUDAH,'' were Miss Brontd's first words after standing for some time before Lawrence's likeness of Thackeray. She meant that the face expressed first to her mind a deep " rage" at the treachery of human nature, in which a generous nobility and also a destructive fever of almost animal spite were Headed in equal proportions. And she spoke with a true literary instinct. The peculiar power of Thackeray's genius lies in the strange effervescence of these widely different elements,—a profound tenderness of feeling, a pathos of more than feminine delicacy and more than masculine com prehensiveness, with a power of cynical fury which is always impelling him to spring upon the selfishness and duplicities of human nature and tear them to pieces before cur eyes in that enimal transport of retributive passion which the lion symbclises to the imagination. HIS MELANCHOLY SPIRIT OF PRE PUBLIC JOURNALS. Was not peculiar to him ; it is more or less a characteristic of the age. It savours the talk even of the young men and women of the present day ; it is visible in the ascetic spirit of pre-Raphaelite art; it permeates our prose literature, and even makes itself felt in the utterances of the newspaper press ; it rings with a sweet sad music in the verse of Tennyson and of the Brownings. Old social forms and transmitted ideas have broken up before the ad vance of knowledge, and reconstruction has not in all things kept pace with demolition. The times are not only " out of joint," but morbidly observant of the fact. This may be only the sickening for a higher life ; but the effect is sometimes that of a conscious death. Poverty, ignorance, sin, and crime weigh on our minds and hearts more heavily than they used to de—not because they are greater in degree than formerly, but because we are mode more incessantly aware of them by the restless activity of the press. We burn with a rapid and eager flame as life burns in consump tion ; and a mournful sense of evanescence and incomplete• ness—of change, and loss, and want, and unsatisfied aspira tion—lies for ever at the core of our perceptions of all things. Thus it comes to pass that the leading authors of the day are almost all shadowed with this brooding melancholy. Dickens is perhaps the only conspicuous exception among living men; in him, a hearty physical nature, and a spirit of jovial enjoyment, have acted as antidotes to the sadder tendencies of the age. Thackeray tasted to the full all that is sorrowful in our times, and gave it out again, like a quintessence, in his boots. Yet we must not confound the gloom of the present generation with that of the one preceding it—the E adneE sof Thackeray and the sadness of Byron. The two are distinct species of the same genus. The earlier form was saturnine, despairful, passionate, and protesting—now angrily struggling with fate, now sar donically moclaihg it• The later development is resigned, tranquil, half-amused in the midst of its terns, inclined to make the best of things as far as it can, but thinking th best, after all, a rath,r poor affair. Ho whom we have lost so recently. and whom we yet mourn, will live in the thoughts of our posterity chiefly as a novelist ; yet he had great claims also as an essayist and a critic. The qualities and habits of his mind directed him more to the writers of the time of Anne and the early Georges than to any others in our mighty range of authorship ; and he found in them the models of the purely literary part of his writings. He seems to have been less attracted by the lurid lights and shades, the gloom and glory, and withal the somewhat extravagant and feverish painting, of the men con temporary with Shakespeare ; and to have turned with a kindred spirit to the even grace, the polished irony. the fine worldly sense, the burning sarcasm, and the consum mate execution cif Addison, Steele, Swift, Pope, and Sterne. in feeling, he was a product of elm age ; in style, he was a product of that; and the union of the two, together with his own piercing insight into the ways and thoughts of men, made him a truly original genius. He has left his stamp upon the century. How far the impression will be permanent, and how for his influence has been healthy, this is not the time to estimate. At present, we stand by his new-made grave, and can only mourn and praise.— London Review. ABERDEEN GRAMMAR SCHOOL AND LORD BYRON Among other traditions, one of the most fascinating is that of Lord Byron's connection with the grammar school at Aberdeen. When, in 1793, Byron's mother had sepa rated from her husband, the profligate Captain Byron, of the Guards, she, being by birth a bliss Gordon of Gicht in Aberdeenshire, had retired to Aberdeen with her little lame London-born boy, then not quite flier years old, and with about £l3O a year saved from her fortuao which her hus band had squandered. The little fellow, living with his mother in the Breadgate, and catching up the Aberdeen 1 dialect, which he never quite forgot, learnt his first lessons from two or three private tutors in succession, the last of whom he mentions as " a very serious, satur nine, but kind young man, named Patterson," the son of his shoemaker, but a good scholar. "With him," he says, "I began Latin in Ruddiman's Grammar, and continued till I went to the Grammar School (Scotia ' Schule),' ilberdonice ' Squeel'), where I threaded all the classes to the fourth, when I was recalled to England, where I had been hatched, by the de mise of my uncle." The fact thus lightly mentioned by Byron was, as may be supposed, no small splendour in the annals of Aberdeen. There were many alive in the town who remembered the lame boy well, and some who had been his schoolfellows, We u•ed to fancy the "faction" in which ho had oftenest sat; and there was no small search for his name or initials, reported to be still visible, cut by his own hand, on one of the " factions"—always, I believe, without success. One school-legend about him greatly im pressed us. It was said that, on his coming to school the first morning after his accession to the peerage was known, and on the calling out of his name in the catalogue no longer as " Georgi Gordon Byron," hat as " Qeorgi, Tduro de Byron," he did not reply with the usual and expected "Adsum," 41,r, f e eling the gaze of all his schoolfellows, burst into tears and ran out. But there are half a hun dred Aberdeen myths about Byron, and this may be one of thew.—From Macmillan's Magazine for January. [AnvEntrisEmENT.]—Holloway's Pills.—The reputation of these purifying pills for maintaining, preserving, or re storing the health needs no confirmation here. The per sonal testimony of thousands who have regained strength and comfort by means of Holloway's Medicine should out weigh any distrupt which invalids, who have never tried them, may naturally feel. The action of the rill. is op mildly alterative and tonic that it cannot shock the most infirm constitution, or debilitate the weakest frame. The Pills give fresh vigour to the stomach and natural activity to the liver, kidneys, and bowels. Holloway's harmless and efficient medicines has been in constant use for neArt , thirty years, and its present popularity proVeS now its virtues have been appreciated by the public at 'are; " EXAMINER.—We did some injustice to Colonel Crawley when we characterised as of unmatched irrationality his argument that the guilt of the un tried prisoner Lilley was to be assumed from the fact of the legality of his arrest. We had, indeed, overlooked the reasoning of the President of the Court upon the same point, and carrying the absur dity still farther. " We may assume," said he, " that Sergeant Major Lilley was a culprit to the fullest extent, in consequence of the stringent orders given . by superior authority for his close arrest." It is a corollary, then, that the close arrest of an untried man under the stringent orders of an officer in superior authority is tantamount to a conviction of his guilt to the fullest extent. What need, then, of trial, unleseindeed it be to conform to the model of justice established by the famous judge in the courts below,Rhadamanthus, who heard what his prisoners had to say in their defence after conviction and punishment. If it is to be presumed that a man is guilty because by high authority he has been placed in close arrest, the fact must carry with it such a load of prejudice as to make the forms of trial a mere mockery, Ex parte the prisoner is con demned. To hear both sides is a rule of justice ignored by the President of the Aldershot Court Martial. The hearing of one side is, in his judg ment, enough to warrant an assumption of guilt. The Colonel had made his charge to the Generals, and the Generals, assuming it to be true, had di rected the close confinement of the accused, and from that, says the President of a Court of Military Jus tice, it was to be assumed that the prisoner was " a culprit - to the fullest extent." Assumption of guilt throughout, and nothing but assumption ! To what purpose, then, do the Articles of War so carefully provide trial for the accused within reason able time, if the orders of a general officer in h i g h command can prejudge the whole case, causing guilt to be assumed to the fullest extent alleged ? The great Roman satirist asks, in the case of a man con demned under the worst tyranny— . . Sed quo cecidit sub crimine ? Quisnam Delator ? Quibus indiciis ? Ruo teste probatit ? Nil horum. Verbosa et grandis epistola venit. A Capreis : bane habet, nil plus interrigo. In Lilley'a case there was, indeed, the delator, but all the rest was wanting—the proof, the witnesses; but not wanting the letter from headquarters, grandis et verbosa, which settled the matter. The close arrest was directed without any view to trial, and from that close arrest it is asserted that guilt was to be presumed to the fullest extent, no trial following tc enable the prisoner to prove his innocence if indeed it could be possible to do so against the avowed preju dice arising from the mere fact of the orders for a strict sequestration. A preliminary injustice may thus be made the warrant for a final injustice. There is no remedy. There is the treatment upon which is based the assumption of guilt, and there an end, no trial following, nor having been contemplated by the superior authority, whose avowed object was to prevent, not to deal with offence. Sir Wm. Mansfield, indeed, had to confess that there was not evidence to support the charge of conspiracy, upon which, nevertheless, he ordered the prisoners to be detained in custody, in defiance of the Articles of War, which would have given them the benefit either of trial or liberation. But of what avail are articles of war if military Dogberrys can be permitted to assume guilt from the arrest which follows accusation, whether false or true. And how monstrous is it to hear this pro pounded as doctrine by the President of a military tribunal, and what a key it gives us to decisions that have hitherto seemed unaccountable. The first maxim of justice, the presumption of innocence, is reversed if a rigorous confinement be directed by a superior authority, and though in the very order, the admission be made that there are not grounds to support the charge ! Lilley was a culprit to the fullest extent, because confined by the direction of the Commander-in-Chief, who found no evidence against him to go to trial. We have to thank a cor respondent for re-citing the memorandum of the Duke of Cambridge, of December, 1862. We thought at the time that the force of he reprimand conveyed not only to Colonel Crawley, but also to the two generals, was not sufficiently understood, nor the justice inspiring it duly appreciated. And we are more than ever confirmed in that opinion. There is no acquittal in that judgment, and none of its effect is cancelled by the court-martial, which has sealed the condemnation of courts-martial as now constituted and conducted. We may indeed wish that the Duke of Cambridge had gone further and brought to justice the injustice he censured, but to the extent to which his Royal Highness went nothing could be better, and never in fewer words was so much merited censure conveyed. LONDON REVIEW.—The Schleswig-Holstein ques tion becomes daily more threatening to the peace of Europe. Led on by the minor princes, the German people have cast off all the restraints of prudence, and all regard for the probable consequences of the war towards which they are recklessly hurrying. Meetings of delegates from the various representa tive assemblies clamour for the immediate separa ration of the duchies from Denmark. Prince Fre derick of Augustenburg is openly raising an army for the invasion of the provinces which he claims. And as the forces charged with the levy of Federal execution in Holstein take possession ot town after town, his Grand-ducal Highness is proclaimed sovereign ot the country. It is true, the Federal Commissioners formally dis avow complicity with acts that are utterly inconsistent with their own proceedings which im pliedly recognise Christian IX. as Duke of Holstein. But they take no steps whatever to arrest the revo lutionary movement; and their feeble protests only serve to show how powerless are the Governments most interested in preserving peace, to control or even to check the mania which has seized upon the Teutonic race. Indeed there is too much reason to fear that Austria and Prussia have given up the at tempt, are on the eve of throwing off the obligations imposed upon them by the Treaty of London, and are preparing to cast themselves hea ilong into the popular tide. Their proposition to the Diet to occupy Schleswig as a means of compelling Denmark to revoke the November Constitution is little, if at all, shortof a declaration of war. If it be adopted—and there is no reason to hope that it will be rejected— the Danes have but one courseopen to them. They can not submit to such dictation on a point on which the Diet have no jurisdiction without virtually placing themselves at the feet of a conqueror. If the Federal execution had been conducted with a decent regard for the rights of Christian IL as Duke of Holstein, and if no threats of occupying Schleswig had been held out, it might have been expedient to withdraw the Constitution in order to give time and opportunity for negotiations. It is, doubtful, however, whether the high spirit of the Danes would even then have tolerated this measure, al though it is understood to have been urged by Eng land, Russia, and Sweden. It is impossible to advise a concession which is evidently meant as the first step to wards that dismemberment of Denmark which is the avowed object of the German people. Nothing appears left to the Danes but to make the best re sistance in their power. We cannot believe that they will be left without allies. The other Scandi navian nations must see that the cause of Denmark is their own; nor can England, France, or Russia, without violating their plighted faith, permit the se paration of Schleswig. We tear there is but little hop of averting war now that statesmen have resigned the reins to agitators. And if war once breaks out who will venture to speculate on its extent or duration P Austria, at any rate, should feel some alarm at the prospect before her. For the Italians are already preparing to welcome the long desired opportunity of liberating Venetia, and Kossuth is once more ad dressing the Hungarians. Louis Napoleon makes no sign, but the most demented German professor can scarcely fancy that his apathy indicates indifference. The new year does indeed open stormily. To all appearance Europe is on the brink of a general war, arising out of a dispute of the paltriest charac ter, and brought on by the maddest folly which ever took possession of a nation. It would be ludicrous, if the possible consequences were not so terrible, to see men who are themselves tyrannised over by a host of potty despots embarking on a crusade for the liberation of those who are already in the en joyment of freedom : to see a country which has long bewailed its internal dissensions recklessly exposing itself to the threatened attacks of two powerful neighbours for the sake of fi ching a petty province, and to see in the van of this war of nationality Powers which, like Austria and Prussia, hold in subjection Poles, Italians, and Hungarians. SPECTATOR.—At the late Buckinghamshire elec tion the hero of the nomination day was, to our mind, the Liberal candidate, Dr. Lee, of Hartwell Park. He is described as a mild and gentlemanly looking country squire, of very venerable mien, and his antagonist, Mr. Harvey, conrteonsly ad. mitted him to be " of acknewledged ability, of wide astronomical and meteorological celebrity, of broad acres, and of good noway family," If to this we add that from his courtesy and benevolence he is equally beloved by his friends and tenantry, it would seem that the Liberals were provided with a model candidate, and so indeed they were, fox a Christmas election. When the 7enerable old man, with his gray hairs, and veice "Jeeble, but dis tinct," came to the front of the hustings, it seemed as if we had got back to an older election in Worcestershire, which is as real to this genera. tion as if it had autually happened. t`or of tilP - didate for Buckinghamshire " all who know that shire are - with his parts and is very Bin"— can ...uty say that very well acquainted ...Aerits. He is a gentleman that - 5 war in his behaviour, but his singulari .tes proceed from his good sense, and are contradic tions to the manners of the world, only as he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humour creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with He has resigned ease and privacy and the social sourness or obstinacy ; and his being unconfined to delight of reigniefe; supreme in his own sphere, not modes and forms, make him but the readier and that he may sfLet a great and glorious end, or este more capable to oblige and please all v. ho know lash his coantry men by any signal and striking him." In this temper of universal benevolence Dr. benefits conferred on them, but that he may do Lee commenced his speech by bowing profoundly to work which will be almost unnoticed, which will the ladies' gallery, for he is an advocate of woman's force him into many petty contests, and will o nly rights, and would have the gentler sea voters as in a minute degree, and by slow steps, do ar.y g eed. we ll as tax-payers, and esteems them as fit to sit in His reward is the knowledge that this is all that 1 18 St. Stephen's as on a throne. Frankly admitting can do for his country, and that what he can do for his antagonist to be a good candidate, Dr. Lee his country is precisely what his country happce B thought that the Tories ought not to monopolize most to need now, and what no one else could do Buckinghamshire, and wished that there were more for her. candidates so as to give the constituency a wider choice, and make the election a sort of sweepstakes. After this we do not need to be assured that the worthy squire is not actuated by personal ambition, has nova single paid agent, nor even "the Man in the Moon" retained as a canvasser, On ordinary subjects, such as the cession of the lonian Isles, the reduction of expenditure, and excessive game-pre serving, he spoko with moderation and good sense, and if we trace something of the old whimsical sim plicity in the desire to make " S. G. 0." Bishop of St. Alban's, we are more pleased to find that at the present moment he has kept himself free from reli gious intolerance, is pleased with the elevation of a Papist to the bench, and recognises " the fearless outspokenness" of Dr. Colenso, though he does not share his conclusions. Dr. Lee is, we believe, a tee totaller, and if he confines his partisanship to an attempt to induce all drunkards voluntarily to take the pledge, there can be no harm in that ; and even his pet anti-tobacco theory is one which he shares not only with King James 1., but with the late Sir Benjamin Brodie. 'This, of course, was the theme for all the witticisms, not only of the Tory speakers but of the crowd before the hustings. When Dr. Lee boldly avowed that he gave up Mr. Gladstone because instead of abolishing the tea-duty he had reduced that on tobacco, some wit in the mob shouted out, " What would you give the poor man in lieu of his beer and 'baccy P" Promptly the Doctor answered, smiling blandly as he spoke, " Why what I now offer you, a tract," and imme diately began tendering his anti-tobacco tracts to the High Sheriff and the gentlemen around. And before the laughter, which this sally called out, had died away, the venerable speaker completed his victory by adding, with ineffable innocence and sincerity, " And it any one present is ready to sub scribe to the anti-tobacco pledge, I shall be most happy to take down his name." That day, at least, the Doctor was triumpbant to the end, for the show of hands was decided to be in his favour. Writing before the result of the election is known, we are not sanguine that this victory will be repeated at the hustings. Yet it would be well that Buck inghamshire should not be quite given over to Tory ism, and if the electors would not quite so tamely submit to the dictation of the great landowners. Nor in days when men are earnest and propor tionably hard, would the House of Commons be any loser if a Sir Roger de Coverley were once again to enter its walls. Dr. Lee's crotchets could do no more harm than Colonel Sibthorp's violence, or Mr. Drummond's apostleship; and the sight of that generous courtesy, that kindly benevolente, that naïve simplicity, coupled with learning, station, and integrity, is something by which all may profit. The Buckinghamshire election may, perhaps, in a party sense, be a hollow thing, but it has at least given the world a perfect specimen of how an elec tion should be conducted at Christmas. SATURDAY REVIEW.—It is to the possibility of avoiding henceforth the small wars which France has on hand almost as surely and as constantly as England has, that M. Thiers ostensibly directed his efforts. He did not affect to be able to stop a big war, and he was perhaps doing all he could when he dimly hinted that the European war must be one of singular magnitude and duration. Imperialists could scarcely quarrel with a speaker who promised to pour all the treasures of the country into the lap of its master, if a real occasion should call him to lead France into a great struggle. At the same time, they could do little to diminish the sobering effect of an anticipation that such a war, if once started, might last for years on years. If, however, the Government would but limit the issue of Tree- Bury Bonds, it would not venture on little wars which are so small that no one thinks much of them when they are begun, but which throw the finances into disorder and make the wisest of economists de spair. The Mexican war affords an inexhaustible subject of attack on the Government, and as it is the Mexican war that has deranged the plans of M. Fould and swollen the floating debt once more in spite of the extreme measures used to reduce it, no one in the French Chamber can openly favour little wars. The continued uncertainty which attends the issue of the struggle in Mexico, and the endless demands it makes on the resources of France, preach a lesson of economy to which the most ardent adherent of the GoVernment cannot pretend to be deaf. No one, in France or out of it, can conjecture when the Mexican war will cease, or when a settled government can be expected to afford the French an excuse for retiring, or to pay them for staying. It is in vain to talk of limiting the issue of Treasury Bonds when money must be found far so ceaseless a drain, and when fresh debt is being necessarily incurred every minute that the champions of economy are speaking. The Government itself cannot determine when little wars will cease, al though it may to a great extent determine when they shall begin. It seems a -comparatively harm less request that it should be asked henceforth not to let them begin, and the evil consequences of the Mexican expedition made the Chamber acquiesce in this being made by M. Thiers. But it is evident that the Emperor would cease to be Emperor if he really gave up the power of making little wars at his pleasure. It is because he can put the navies and armies of France in motion when and where he pleases, that his nod is watched for by the world, and that he creates a sense of awe and expectation in the breasts of millions. If he could not decide whether Catholicism was to triumph on the shores of Cochin China, if he could not raise up and cut down the hopes of the Maronites like grass in summer, if he could not create little Empires for foreign Princes, he would no longer be the mysterious, magical, inscrutable power he affects to be. He is very anxious not to quarrel with France about Mexico, and he, there fore, is inclined that the Government should accept with ostensible patience the doctrines as to little wars which M. Thiers chooses to lay down. But both he and M. Thiers know perfectly well that it is because in these minor matters, no one calculates how he will act that he excites the hopes, the feers, and the wonder of thousands ; and if he were to re nounce the power of forming and carrying out his private and secret resolutions, he would speedily sink into the miserable obscurity of a constitutional Sovereign. The importance of the return of M. Thiers to political life can be estimated with tolerable accuracy when his speech on the loan is compared with that of the other members of the Opposition. M. Picard declined to vote fornhe loan at all, because to do so was to give an indirect sanction to the Mexican expedition, of which he highly disape proved; and as he was sure that the sum necessary for the payment of past debts would be voted by the majority, he could satisfy his conscience by voting against the loan, and yet rely on other people to take care that the satisfaction given to his private conscience did no public harm. There is always something respectable in conscientiousness of any sort, and the liveliness of a Chamber is augmented by the presence of some members who will never admit of any compromise. But it is not imparoticable enthusiast who offer any efficient op position to the daily working of the machinery of despotism. Men like M. Picard keep alive the spirit and courage of France, but they do not guide public opinion towards definite results, the attainment of which would alter in some degree, however slight, the character of the Government, and the refusal of which forces the Government to offer what seems a harsh and unreflecting opposition to moderate and sensible demands. Still less can the fanatics who think that democracy demands a war on behalf of Poland, and that Democracy at all costs be obeyed, seriously hamper t must action of a powerful and coherent Govern Lent. The Em peror is too old a democrat tn., r oe frightened at the oracular utterings of it fictitious democracy. His acquaintance wit:a England, too, must enable him to check the statements which the chief representa tive of demotsraey in the Chamber, M. Gueroult, offers as aids to French reflection at the present crisis, The enlightened readers of the Opinion Na tionale may be inclined to accept the assurances of its conductor that France, if she embarks in a Con thienaedentdalby Eg war, n n l e a e n, need not fear a coalition ag a i n st her as Mr. Pitt, who was the soul of former coalitions, has lived to repent of his error, and is now, at the age of eighty, as mach against coalitions as he used to be for them. But the Em peror may safely trust that even Frenchmen in gene ral know that this would be a brittle reed to lean on ; and, if it were necessary, he could overwhelm M. 0 ueroult's argument in the Chamber,by ordering t pm o o .s h srr i e m i as sills ho has ss Contrasted eonnslye tahnad w t i ae t dz h vp that the elements of modern history be made kne aemnrieteanngi3iwkel);?/. M. • eueroult, 'st inst., Mr. M. W. naa all men in the ignorant spouters of - ee must have over But when he is comne old Opposition - ered g rand political phrases. with the members of the riority of , although he has perhaps no supe vi"- enaracter or aim, and although M. Wi ne. in this debate has shown that he can take as calm and rational and 'statesmanlike a view of the position of France as any one, yet M. Thiers brings a new element of opposition in his great knowledge of Parliamentary contests, in his tact, and in his sound judgment as to the amount of pre& sure to which the Government can be exposed with out doing more harm than good. He has chosen in his old age to take on his shoulders a heavy burden. COUNTRY MARUETS. NORWICH-SATURDAY. There was the usual attendance of farmers at market to' day, and a fair supply of wheat was otr6riug. There was better feeling in the trade, and prices may be considered 1 0 per qr dearer than on this day se'nnight. There was a fair supply of barley, and last week's prices were supported. In oats, beans, and peas not much doing. Flour without alteration—white 44s to 465, red 40s to 42s per qr. White wheat. 44s to 46, Red wheat 43r to 49 Malting barley ...36s to 37s / Chevalier barley 34s to 3 ,9 Distilling do 30s to 32s I Oats.. ..24, to 26 0 Flour, 28s Od to —s Od per sack from the miller RECOLLECTIONS OF THACKERAY And Tributes to him. LONDON WILL MISS HIMI When we image to ourselves what London is and wine' has been its history, it is astonishing bow much of what is fondest in our representations consists of recollections of the succesive clusters of eminent men, and especially of eminent men of letters, that have there passed their lives. As far back as the days of Chaucer and Gower the tradition begins ; it is but faintly kept up from that period till it bursts forth afresh in the glozions London of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and all the Elizabethans ; since which time what is London, in the popular notion of its history, but that ever-growing, ever-roaring city in the midst of which company after company of the natural successors of those poetic and dramatic Elizabethans have found their habi tations and inducements, their hard or easy livelihood, and their noted or unnoted graves ? To the Elizabethans succeeded the Wits of the Restoration, apart from whom, in an obscure outskirt, sat Milton, old and blind ; to these the Wits of Queen Anne's reign ; and to these the Georgians, elder, middle, and later, to the verge of our own times. In each generation, of course, there have been men of literary celebrity, not congregated in London, but distributed over the rest of the land, whether in other cities or in country-neighbourhoods; and sometimes the centre of greatest intellectual power has certainly not been in the metropolis. But, in the main, the greatest quantity of British literary talent, at any one time, has always, for natural reasons, been aggregated in London ; and the con spicuous literary cluster of any one time has consisted of men and women;whom their contemporaries could recognise as Londoners. In our own age, more expressly than in most others, this has been the case. If we reckon this age from the beginning of our present severeign's reign in 1337, and if, adopting a collective name that has been proposed, we call the British authors of the last 26 years " the Victo rians," then a more than usual proportion of these Victo rians have belonged, or are still belonging, to London. It is a cluster to be proud of—a cluser that will shine in our literary history, even when the lustre of the preceding Georgian era of Dr. Samuel Johnson, and that of the earlier era of Queen Anne's Wits, are still remembered in the comparison. Who shall venture to draw up now a com plete list of these eminent Victorians —including alike the historians, the poets, the novelists, the moralists, and the philosophers whom future times are likely to take account of under that designation? Or who so bold as, out of the 40 or 50 of all orders that might compose such a list of the indubitably eminent, to select five or six, and aver, " These are they that will be looked back upon as the pre-eminent of our era, as the Victorian stars of the greatest magnitude?' We are in the noise and dust of the present ; the most blatent and sociable have it their own way for a season ; and in the fall and click of a thousand hammers, few can tell who is working in pinchbeck, and who is beating and shaping the finest gold. Time will find out; or, if even Lime should not trouble itself to do so, what does it matte' ? One of our Victorians, however, we can all at this moment speak of with certainty as sure to rank among the pre eminent of that designation, however strict may be the posthumous criticism. We have laid him this week in the cemetery of Kensal-green.— The Reader. HIS LAST WORK—LEFT UNFINISHED. We are told in the newspapers that Mr, Thackeray had just rejoiced over the completi'n of the fourth monthly portion of his story, seeing in it, no doubt, the promise of a work which would not be found, when completed, to fall short even of his fame. It was, we believe, like the Virginians, a story of the times of George I. and George 11. Some months ago it was rumoured that the next work from his pen would relate to an early period of English history— a statement which a bold guesser subsequently enlarged into the assertion that its scene would be laid in the times of the Anglo-Saxons. Mr. Thackeray was doubtless amused at the paragraph which made the customary tour through the press of London and the provinces, gravely informing the world that the author of " Esmond," and the " Essays on the liumourists," who had hitherto delighted in the times of elaborate flowing wigs, and swords, and coats with huge lapels, had suddenly betaken himself to those misty days of savage manners and scanty clothing. The rumour, in its unembellished form, was however not without foun dation. Mr. Thackeray had, we believe, recently contem plated writing a story of the days of Henry the Fifth, in which period of our history some accidental bent of his reading had led him to take a special interest. He had even thought of some of its details, and had amused himself in imagination with a grotesque scene in one of the old chro niclers of a famous royal lady, who rode into a fair city of Normandy upon a cow. But the notion was laid aside. His old passion for recreating the life and manners of the last century was too powerful to be resisted, and he finally found himself at homd in a story of English life of the old period, in which the elaborate imitation of the style of the Augustan ago would not be allowed, as in the "Adventures of Henry Esmond," to interfere with the development of a story of a good and heroic stamp, in the presence of which the old complaints from' adverse critics of cynicism and cold ness should be heard no more.—Publishers' Circular. HIS KNOWLEDGE OF CHARACTER, Was minute and accurate, but it was confined to the limits of his own experience. He had lived among artists, men of letters, native and foreign adventurers, and in the best society of London ; but he knew nothing of peasants or artisans, and he never attempted to describe them. The variety of his creations has been under valued, because his later novels were too exclusively occu pied with a single phase of existence ; but the humble clerk who is the hero of the "Great Hoggarty Diamond" is re moved by many degrees in the social scale from the Mar quis ef Steyne and Lady Kew. The artificial ingenuity by which accuracy of costume is preserved in "Esmond" and "The Virginians" might have raised a doubt of Mr. Thackeray's prudence in attempting historical fiction; but the "Luck of Barry Lyndon" contains an admirable pic ture of Continental life in the last century, although the story has failed to obtain popularity in consequence of the error of making the villain of the story, like Smollett's " Count Fathom," also its hero or centre. In Becky Sharp, Mr. Thackeray performed a feat which has rarely been accomplished in fiction, by endowing the creature of his imagination with a portion of his own genius and wit. Per haps the reality of life which is imparted to the thoroughly commonplace George Osborne is almost an equally difficult achievement. Caricatures, even when they sym bolise whole classes by a skilful exaggeration of their pe culiarities, rank below the natural and breathing portraits of the highest order of artists. In the power of arranging the accessories of scenery and incident, Mr. Thackeray had many superiors, yet there is no more perfect passage in modern literature than the Waterloo chapter in" Vanity Fair," where the rumours of the unseen battle form an accompaniment to the anxieties and projects of the perso nages of the story, as they wait for the results at Brussels. NOTTINGHAM-SATURDAY. There was a fairailOW of wheat at this corn exchange to' day, and the condition of the samples was decidedly proved. Out-door work is going on satisfactorily in tli neighbourhood. The demand was good, and sales were generally made at is per qr over late rates. White wheat, from 40s to 455; red wheat, 398 to 42si Barley—malting, 308 to 408 ; grinding, 27s to 30s. Oats old, at 24s to 31s Od ; new, 20s to 258. Beans sold at 3 0 ° to 43s per qr. ; new, 35s to 378. GRANTHAM-SATURDAY. Old white wheat, 44s to 48s ; red, 39s to 42s per 365 t.; new white, 40s to 45s ; red, 32s to 425. Malting barley , 33s to 36s per qr ; grinding, 28s to 30s ; oats, old, 24s t , 28s; new, 20s to 24s ; beans, 38s to 40s; peas, 34s to 365. NORTHAMPTON-SATURDAY. At this corn market to-day there was a better attendant than on the week previous, but the show of wheat was bi no means abundant. The young wbeat plant is lookl well around here. There was a firm feeling in the trader and holders refused to sell except at an advance of is Pe t qr. on late rates. White wheat, 40s to 455; red, 37s to 40s ' • fine, ---1/ to —s per qr. Barley, 35s to 37s—grinding, 28s to 325 " Oats, 28s to 32s per 24 stone. Beans, 38s to 425. reA 34s to 40s per qr. YORK--►SATURDAY. - ----- - ----- We were supplied with a fair quantity of wheat to-a from the growers. Prices generally maintained for gO dry lots, with an improving demand, Wheat, red 38s to 41s Oats.... lBs to 2„ / White do .42s to 46s Beans .. 38, to 0 1 Barley .28s to 32a Peas ~. „—s to --4 i Malt, 58s to 60s per qr.; rye, 32s per qr.; flour, to 32s per sack. LEICESTER-SATURDAY, We had a moderate show of wheat on offer at this GOYS market, there being a sprinkling of red and white descrir Lions. Field work is in a forward state. There was an improvement in the trade, and prices advanced 18 per q r ' 60 New white wheat, 40s to 45s ; red, 38s to 41s per ov stone. Old red, 39s to 41s per 36 stone. Barley, malta new, 33s to 38s per qr.; grinding, 29s to 325; old 0 0 0 ;, 25s to 30s; new oats, 22s to 25s per 24 stone. Beal l old, 38s to 42s per 38 stone ; Hour, 30s to 35s per 20 'AO* Foreign Mail Packet List. MAILS DUE. Australia and Mauritius, via Southampton....... Jan. I: via Marseilles Brazil and Cape Verds, by British packet. Jan. /. 0 Cape of Good Hope, Ascension, an d St. H e l ena .. Jan. ~ Obina, Penang, and Singapore, v i a S o uthampton. Jan. - P via Marseilles ...Jan. ''~ ' Falkland Islands Gibraltar, via Southa m pt on .. India (Calcutta), and C e yl on , v i a S ou thampton.... Zal via Marseilles.... Jan.l, India (Bombay), via Southampt on .. J a n. via Marseilles Jan. . Portugal.... 'Malta, Egypt, and Aden, via South am pt on J a n. 2, via Marseilles Newfoundland . • Oporto and Vigo U. S. and British N. America, by Brit. packet.... Jan. 6' by U.S. packet.... by Canadian packet Jan W.C. of Africa, Madeira, and Teneriffe lan. Bahamas, via New York Jan. Mexico.. All parts of West Indies, including Chili, Peru, i Jan. California, and British Columbia. 1. 1 0 ' 1 4 ~, WHAT IS VULGARLY CALLED "A TWISTER V 'l As exemplified by the description of a Stonis ch i i watching its hard tasks come down to it from the regit )v above between dinner and bedtime.—First comes a.plate' soup and bread, and a glass of sherry; "I can mans , that," says the Stomach. Then a plate of fish, with mo le bread and more sherry; "and that," adds the Stoma o " though these sauces don't quite agree with me." TheO comes beef, or mutton, or both, and stout ; then game to) sherry; then a dish of tart; " Confound this pastry," PI / the Stomach, "it gives me more trouble than anythill else ; but if the master will only stop here, I think, if I O a out all my powers, I can get even this rubbish out of ale way." But she has hardly taken this hopeful view of ti l of case, when down come 2heese, celery, apples, oranges, ril l ! r figs, almonds and raisins, port, sherry, claret, and a turaV`, of hot Hollands and water. " Good gracious, was th er , ever such a mess ?" exclaims the stomach; " w hat can th man mean? Does he think one pair of h an d s can 11-a l to all this ?" Still the willing slave goes t o wor k, presently there is a rush of hot tea from above, with a t " t il slice of bread-and-butter. Aud when the Stomach 911 01 infinite labour has got the hodge-pod ge i n t o some or", of homogeneous shape, and is prepa r i ng t o t a k e a nap • exhaustion, lo I a devilled drumstick rushes into its lab () ; tory, two devilled kidneys, a bottl e o f s t ou t, and tumblers of hot brandy and water. 0 f THE MEANING OF " WlLLlAM."—D er ived - t 0 o o the language of the old Teutonic race, Wit-hely: l, helmet of many, signifies one who protects and defr o o many. Willi o r Viii i s s till p reserve d i n th e Ger tor ",viel," many; so too is " helm," with the identical 03e ri p ing of old (which grew out o f t h e wor d " hil ma "), to C° e lathe Icelandic " hialmr" is h e l met ; i n t h e S axon " he'.) signified to cover, to protect ; in our own language, da rt from those above mentioned, familiar to all is the " plug helm" of Shakspeare and all our poets. Scarcely less bash tiful is the other meaning of this doubly significant p „ r( the Saxon " helma" signitying the helm or upper por, t i g the rudder, which is grasped by the steersman who ge l 1 the ship. Is not our common name of William, tb ejl ;l name to live up to ? A helmet of defence, a protector ; helmsman, a guide to many ! To those who care fo r i t/ significance of names there is a delight in readio9 " Life of William Pitt," at the a pp ropr i a t enes s °di name to " the pilot who w ea th ere d th e storm."49fr Itoode' s What's your Name? I* IV A b [ADVERTISEMENT. ] — Consumption, all nervous, !pm ' : liver, and stemach co m pl a i nts, in every stage, are oP " gravated and accelerated by drugs of every descriptio n . ;" perfectly curable by Du B arry ' s health restoring Re1;101 Arabica Food, as proved b y th ousands of cases allii10,91; been considered hopeless. We quote a few.—Cure Miss Lange, 18 years of age, cured after the medical or: d e abandoned all hopes of h er r ecovery from the last o'7oo' pulmonary consumption, with fearful cough, expect °r „ - e eo,, exhaustion, spitting of blo o d , perspirations, hollow Cl e cti!, emaciated to a skeleton. She is now, thank God, a P er ' healthy, blooming, fleshy Lange, C0m 111107 511e 1 7 Police. Cure, No. 46,270. M r. James Roberts, of P.l. Surrey, of thirty years' diseased lungs, spitting of blood,of derangement, and partial deafness.—Cure, No. 47, 121 ' 010 111 Elizabeth Jacobs, of extreme nervousness, ind i g e p. : 1 1 1 gatherings, low spirits, and ner vous f anc i es .—CU T : r ie, 64,816. the Rev. James I'. Campbell, Fakenliani, v a istr of indigestion and torpidity of the li v er, which had re' 51/ 4 all medical treatment. In tins, 11b, 2s 9d; 21b, 18 6d+; 111, 11s; 121 b, 225; 241 b, 40s. Ba rr y d u B arry and Co., ..in fAT Regent-street, London ; also F ortnum an d Mason; rctiolly grocers and chemists in every t own o f t h e United NO' • Births. 10 1 BooTY—On the 31st ult., a t C ast l e H ouse, Fore st, thamstow, the wife o f A r th ur B ooty, E,q., of a I , SO COODE—On the Ist inst., a t 18, S outh Aualey . str ee William Coode, of a son. . 1 4 0 tlP PEILE--On the Ist inst., at 2, Norland-terrace, - - hte t. o hill, the wife of Bransby Cooper Peile, of a da ll g r l " g cs9; HARWARD—On the Ist inst., at 1, Wellington-far— ok John's-wood, the wife of Gainsborough, B l4 ' daughter. Marriages. bot tl et WRITE—DM—On the 29th ult y a t S t . Mari „ el l (y Kensington, by the Rev. Wm. Wright, Alfred son g f son White, Esq., 3d Dragoon Guaras, younr,e 9 " rJ Lieut.-General Sir Mich ae l W hite, K.C.13., u, r Risden, only child of Ed w i n R . Davy, Fag., Devonshire. No cards. r pt oo d WOOD—KIRKWOOD—On the 31st ult., I t t St. De, i rtoo4 lington, Austin Wood, o f 12, ParkfieVi-streett '? 0 11 7 of the late R. M. W oo d, o f Ald er% „-- ate-street, 0` eldest daughter of the late ThomasKirkwoo Milner-square, Islington, 'so cards. ADAIR—On ti , Deaths. St f l Adair ? C , f3r io a 271 h ult., at Florence, Richaru,3 elo P iptain half pay Royal Artillery, age 6 ' , 0 son of An , the late Major-General Adair, C.B. D er 9 0l ...HER-011 New Year's-Eve, at Springfield, in -g l ickf year, Sally, widow of the late Thomas Archer, fr" 01 Chelmsford. , i 0 -01 - tirtfle;f CoURTNEY—On the Pt t ; 63d year of his age. COMONFORT—On the 13th Nov. last, aged 51, tile e ifs 'ol 4% sident of Mexico, General Ignacio Comonfort, l 'Ar ol of War and Commander-in-Chief of the Mesic o3 , '0" His loss is deplored by all. R.I.P. I,el GODLEY—On the 31st ult., at Killegar, county a p Ireland, John Godley, aged 88, o'4 HARVEY—On Thursday, the 31st ult., at DlPl ic il°,o Liverpool, aged 31, Thomas H. Harvey, Esq. , Ipte l 44 GREIG—On the 31st ult., at Corraith House, .v . ,+ o . po Mrs. Greig, of Levy, relict of the late James Gre'' of Levy, in Lerwick, Shetland. _...,A, London : Primed and Published by WILLIADI AN- so,' 11 of No. 112, Strand, Printer, at TUE SUN Oince„oti Strand, In the Precinct of the savoy,in the iov Middlenzi N 9124 V I JiliAlful , 4, 1664. __gat THEc SUN, LONDON, MONDAY EVENING, JANUARY 4, 1804. P, PH op i 1 It